351 E. Temple St.

i am tired.

the gray in the lining

of my soul is see-through.

my love is withered and

unresponsive.

no petals in my chamber

for my chamber is a street.

i am hungry and cold.

the fire in my spirit has

smothered its last spark.

the matches of life have

been stolen by proposals

regulations and copper pipes.

my feet no longer carry

dignity and strength.

my arms no longer capture

me at my disgrace.

i am numberless in the

bar code of the beast.

Cain and the Trash Can

i think you are
wrong to stand in my
way. you seek to
destroy all that
is left in my brain.

i did kill a man
with blows from my hand.
fiercely to his bones
i ploughed.

i ripped out his
soul and threw it away
in a tin not too much
unlike you. i own this
nirvana of concrete and pain.

i watch all the sinners and i watch
all the saints on my
circadian treks. i am not lonely
in spite of my face for look
to my right there is my race.

unbeknown to them yet though
here i stand. they are nearing
the end of the bind.

soon i will
usher them to this abysmal entry.

where your soul goes

and the killing continues with the will
of their hand.

rise

today i open my eyes and rise to another day. it’s a special day and i am grateful. so many hours, so many days have come and gone. i am grateful for that too. for in that time frame i have become a little wiser or at least better able to survive. i worry that in the process of survival i will forget to dream. you have always cradled my dreams alameda street. today is extra special with Our Lady Queen of Angels hosting all of the believers who also survive in any way they can. i can afford some day-dreaming and wasting of time, but those days are slowly withering away, eroding like the bricks on your side my Lady. with faith you were risen and from these rocks and clay; from faith i was allowed to be born, but a different path had to be followed so that i might be here right now. had a more popular road been chosen for me, i would not be here with you fair Queen. now in your smog and your electric heat and rules and stop lights, i will faithfully rise again tomorrow and spill out unto the alameda once more.

suikaddish

do black holes exist or are they something i read about in a comic book? are those beautiful pictures of nebulas shaped like crabs and other creatures that i see in the science magazines real? how can i know for sure that this very night i am walking home? how can i know for sure that i am walking back to a home and that i will get there? can a black hole, if it is real snatch me up? would it think i am important? does it matter what religion scientists are? does it matter what i believe? does God want me? do i want God to want me? if i give and give and give will it make a difference? is it better to take and take and take? is my smile enough to save a dying life? my own? if i am sad is it bad? am i broken in an unfixable way? can i benefit from anything modern? am i too late for anything old? did i ever make love? do i have control over any war? do i have control over any deficit? do i reward bad and punish good? if i reward bad on earth and punish good on earth, will the bad go to hell and the good to heaven? why can i not explain what i know? is that bad? is dreaming bad? did Gabriel pinch my lips together? or did i just get punched on the mouth? should i talk? should i judge? would that make me a better person? am i compassionate? is there a time and a place for everything? what did my mother raise? did she have a hand at molding me? why do i like what i like? why do i like what i don’t like anyway? do i contribute to my perdition? am i good? does anyone think of me? do you?

cocoon

February, in a place where there is no time
but to waste

you, two young soldiers kept at bay
by a raggedy county tax funded white veil

there, between the cold and the colder concrete bed
lays a baby butterfly

ready to take flight, transforming, shaking off its earth,rising from its origin towards the hand of God

i envied your horizontal stance

but from my wretched vertical position

winced at what might have been your life
a supernova worm
before a thousand suns and so many many other moons
rivers crossed and coins spent

but wings are in their stead

mercy tipped love arrow and light
cleansing, beautiful,wondrous light
no more ripping of your worm cloak

like such

i, still in my lateral hoax left to rot

for summers more
good bye, good bye, good bye

angels broken praise

in time the patch
roughens and flakes away
leaving a badge to remember
the lesson learned.

while not being ready yet,
choosing to fly won’t help
the break. alone in the canyon
a river dwindled and the
holy caves yawned forth.

a taxi stops around the corner
of time’s middle age;
insurance forms and medic aid
now fill the noons.

beauty is cold and superficial.
the birds are dead but stones
still keep the souls
of the soldiers kept in compounds.

the corridors bleed open.
the history a waste.
to hear the lonely aging,
to see them in my wake.

a closing unto open air;
the swallows make a nest.
the river thickens with the garbage
of angels’ broken praise.